The Gift
by bloodsoakedleather
Summary: What Hal Yorke wants, Hal Yorke gets, and he wants Nick Cutler.  What really happened in that cell after Roy closed the door.  SLASH


**Disclaimer:** I do not own "Being Human", I only wish I did. This is just for fun.

**THE GIFT**

Constable Roy Wilkes looked up from his desk and glanced out of the window.

"That lawyers here again." He said to Eddie, the desk sergeant.

"Who, Cutler?"

"That's the one."

"Finally. Now his Lordship can stop summoning me every ten minutes to ask if he's here yet."

Roy frowned.

"His Lordship? Yorke's here?"

"Yup. Cell number 2." Eddie shuffled a pile of papers then shoved them in his desk drawer. Roy just stared at him, eyes wide.

"He's in the cells? Christ almighty what's he doing in there?"

Eddie thought he detected a slight note of panic in his colleagues voice.

"Relax will you. Don't get your skivvies in a twist. It was his idea… he's got a plan."

"He's always got a plan. What is it this time?"

"He's gonna turn Cutler."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Seems Mr Yorke has got a bit of a… thing for our young lawyer. Wants something from him, and I don't mean legal advice if you catch my drift."

Roy grinned his understanding and looked out of the window again. Cutler was retrieving some files from the boot of his car.

"Well, I can't say I blame him. There is something about the bloke."

Eddie glared at him.

"Oi. You better pack that in if you're attached to your fangs. Remember what happened to the last fella he caught drooling over one of his boys? And he wasn't even half as keen on that one as he is this one."

"Yes, alright, I know. I'm not an idiot. I'd rather stay on his good side thanks. He's all Yorke's."

He took another surreptitious glance at the lawyer as he walked towards the door, files in hand.

"Can't help feeling sorry for the bloke though. Poor bastard's got no idea what he's getting himself into does he?"

"No." The sergeant answered. "But he's gonna find out soon enough."

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><p>"Roy. Would you mind closing the door?"<p>

Cutler looked round nervously, a sudden chill making his skin prickle as the door creaked shut. Something was wrong here, very, very wrong. He didn't know what, but his instincts told him that that whatever it was, he should be scared. And he was, more than scared, he was terrified.

Clutching his files tightly to his chest he glanced over at the seated man. Yorke was eerily calm, his lips were curved into a cruel smirk and his eyes were fixed on Nick's.

"M… Mr Yorke I… I d… don't know… w… what's…" He stammered.

"Shhh."

Yorke stood. A shiver ran down Nick's spine. He tried to speak but he couldn't find his voice, it had been stolen by the dead black eyes that now advanced upon him. He dropped his files and a cool hand took his, it's thumb stroking his knuckles in a way that was strangely soothing.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I'm just going to…"

Sharp, white fangs gave Nick back his voice then, and that voice screamed.

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><p>Cutler woke, groggy and light headed. What had happened? Had he passed out? He couldn't remember. He tried but everything was so hazy. He was dimly aware of an arm draped over his shoulder, fingers tracing lazy circles against the curve of his neck. A familiar voice, one he couldn't quite place yet, whispered…<p>

"Welcome back."He untangled himself from the peculiar, though not entirely disagreeable embrace and turned to see who it was who had been holding him. That was when it hit him, everything came flooding back. The eyes, the fangs, the terror.

"You. You stay away from me." He shouted, scrambling backwards in panic, losing his balance and sliding off the bench to land with a soft thud on the floor. He shuffled over to the cell door on his backside, never once taking his eyes off the grinning man. He dragged himself to his feet and banged his fists against the solid metal door yelling. "LET ME OUT, PLEASE, LET ME OUT."

"No one's coming to save you." The man said. "You're beyond that now."

Nick stared at him.

"What are you?" He whispered.

"Guess." Came the reply.

He didn't need to guess. Deep down he knew, or thought he knew. But surely that was just a legend, a story, wasn't it?

"No no no." Nick shook his head. "This can't be happening., it can't. It's a bad dream, it's not real, you… you're not real."

Yorke chuckled.

"I can assure you Mr Cutler, I am indeed, very, very real."

"Oh God." Nick's stomach lurched, his legs were like jelly, he stumbled forward, steadying himself with his hands on his knees as he gasped and heaved. "I feel sick."

"You're not sick. You're just hungry. Come here." Yorke patted the spot beside him on the bench and even though every fibre in his body was screaming at him to run the other way, Nick found himself obeying, as if this man had somehow hypnotised him and he no longer had a will of his own. "Sit."

Nick did as he was told.

"What have you done to me?" He asked, half afraid to hear the answer.

"I've given you a gift Nick. I've transformed you, released you from the banality of your human life. You're special now. You're one of us."

"One of you?"

Yorke nodded.

"A vampire… My vampire, my protégé. You belong to me."

In the back of his mind Nick knew how wrong that was. He knew he should fight and he was sure he would end up wishing he had but right now, in this moment, he couldn't seem to make himself care. That voice, so soft, so smooth, yet so strong, it brokered no resistance. It was seductive. It made him shiver and… a low moan rose in his throat and caught there.

He tried to speak.

"I…"

But no words would come. Yorke smiled again and it didn't seem cruel anymore, it seemed… inviting.

"You need to feed." He said, before his eyes turned black and his fangs descended once again and Nick wasn't scared this time because it was beautiful, how had he not seen that before? Yorke lifted his hand to his mouth, sank his fangs into his own palm and tore open the flesh. He offered Nick his cupped hand., blood seeping from the wound, forming a shallow pool that threatened to spill over the sides. "Take it."

Nick stared for a moment, simultaneously repulsed and aroused. He was drawn, the blood was calling to him, his nerve endings tingled and his self control was shattered. He wanted this, needed it, he knew he shouldn't but he couldn't help himself.

He lowered his mouth to Yorke's hand and began to lap delicately at the blood that had collected there. It was like nothing he'd ever tasted before and suddenly he couldn't get enough. Lips fastened around the wound and he started to suck, gently at first, becoming more frenzied, more desperate, pulling the blood from the other mans body.

Yorke tipped his head back and moaned, long and low and utterly indecent and Nick couldn't help but moan too because it did something to him, stirred him in a way the blood hadn't.

He tore his mouth away and looked at the other man, feeling something change him. His fangs slipped for the first time and he ran the tip of his tongue over the points, testing how sharp they were.

Yorke watched intently.

"You have no idea how beautiful you look right now with your lips stained in blood." He rasped. Nick thought Yorke was the beautiful one.

A hand came up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangled in his soft, wavy hair, and he was dragged into a fierce kiss. Cool and wet, his tongue slid against the other mans, blood and saliva mingling, fangs scraping and nipping and oh God, kissing Rachel had never been like this, nothing with Rachel had ever felt this good. It didn't occur to him to feel guilty about betraying his wife, it would later when this was over, but right now all he felt was heat and need and passion and he wanted more, he wanted everything.

He leaned back, laying himself flat against the bench, pulling the other man on top of him, kissing him harder, rocking his hips, pressing himself against him. He didn't care that he was acting like a whore.

"Say my name." Yorke mumbled against his lips.

"Hal." He breathed.

"Again.""Hal."

Hal groaned and broke the kiss, staring down at him through black eyes. Eyes that sent a shiver of pure desire right through Nick's entire body.

"Tell me what you want Nick. Beg for me."

"You. I want you. Please Hal, I want you so much. Please. Please."

Propping himself up on one arm, Hal's other hand moved to the front of Nick's suit trousers, unfastening them with the ease of a man well practised in such things. Nick's own hands were nervous and clumsy but so, so eager and soon both men sprang free and Hal's hand, still bloody, was wrapped around both their straining lengths, squeezing, stroking, pulling desperate, needy moans from Nicks throat.

"So wanton." Hal whispered, his voice as slick as the hand that was working Nick to near madness. "Such shameless abandon. Seeing you like this makes me… ache." Nick whimpered, arching his back and pushing himself further into Hal's teasing hand. "Cum for me Nick. I'll be right there with you."

Hal tightened his grip and it was too much for Nick, he couldn't take it anymore, couldn't have held back any longer even if he's wanted too. He came harder and faster than he'd ever done in his life and Hal was there with him, both of them bucking and snarling and clutching tightly until finally they collapsed panting and exhausted and sticky with blood and semen.

Nick couldn't think, couldn't speak, could barely remember his own name let alone what had led to this but he remembered what he'd felt, that all consuming lust, the intense, burning pleasure. He remembered Hal, and he thought he probably always would. How could he forget?

Hal's weight shifted on top of him and then it was gone and Nick felt the loss keenly. He pushed himself up on his elbows, looking over at Hal who was wiping his hand on a handkerchief. He looked different somehow, distant. Composed and neat, not drained and dishevelled like him. He was cold, like he had been before.

Nick felt a sudden chill.

Hal banged the cell door sharply, twice and it opened immediately. Had someone been outside the whole time, listening?

"I'll call you later. Make sure you look… enticing." He said, tossing the handkerchief at him without even a glance. "Now clean yourself up Cutler for God sake, you're a mess."

His voice was flat, emotionless, no trace remained of the passion it had held just minutes ago. Nick realised then that this had just been a game to the other man, it hadn't meant a thing to him and he hated that. He hated Hal for what he'd done to him, what he'd forced him to become, for making him want this… whatever it was. More than that he hated himself for being so stupid and weak and gullible, hated himself because to him it had meant something. To him it had meant everything, it still did and as sick and twisted as it was he would let this happen again and again because he was already addicted, not just to the blood, but to Hal.

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><p><strong>Reviews appreciated<strong>


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